


Untangling the Rope

by LePipi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, M/M, Slave Dean, centurion Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 09:36:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LePipi/pseuds/LePipi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To protect his honor, Centurion Castiel of the 4th Legion is to take a slave under his wing. The responsibility that is thrust upon him leaves him clueless. As a simple man of the sword he'd never encountered a man as Dean, a man who makes him question everything, from his loyalty to his faith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untangling the Rope

**Author's Note:**

> Before you start reading, please note that I tried to keep this as realistic as possible. Which means mentions of paederasty (pedophilia), casual mention of wounds, and as we go on there will be violence. Every latin phrase, word, Gods and Goddesses will be explained at the end.

"Centurion Castiel!" – Cesar Michael with his arms spread wide and a grin even wider greeted the trudging soldier.

Castiel, Centurion of the 4th legion had come back home to the Empire after another victory. He hadn't the time to clean and make himself presentable as direct orders led them back to Michael.

Removing his helmet, he tried to keep his back as straight as possible and face not betray the pain he was in.

"Mars is ever fond of you, brother." The Cesar's strong hands enveloped his shoulders, as he stood stock still and breathed the air of home, concentrating on the heaviness of the Cesar's arms and the praise they held. Anything but the pain.

"My gratitude, Cesar." He said as Michael kissed his cheek and moved back to smile at him in pride.

His green eyes squinted as he trained them downwards.

"Have you been wounded, soldier?"

"I am fine, Cesar." The gods failed his prayers as his injury was spotted.

Michael turned back with a smile and tapped his shoulders assuredly.

"You never fail me, Castiel. And you never will."

"Never." He affirmed.

"You have done your service. Go home and rest. Tonight, you are a guest at my celebration."

"That won't be necessary, Cesar, I am humbled by the-"

"It is not a question, Castiel." Michael cut in between Castiel's stuttered breaths.

"It wouldn't be a victory celebration without my Angelus Mortis, the victor." He chuckled softly at the nickname the Centurion came known for.

The silence etched on as Castiel could only think of the numbing pain in his leg, and how last time he checked the blood was crusty and the maggots were still eating out the dead flesh. The need to go home, to see the stone structure he left 2 years ago, to lay and sleep, sleep mercifully and forget about everything that was said and done in times better left forgotten, begged him to say 'no'.

But he knew his place, and saw the expectant face of the Cesar who he never denied and couldn't deny.

Comfort would have to wait until after.

"I am most humbled by your offer and would see to suit your presence, Cesar."

-/-

"Ah, Angelus! What a pleasant surprise!" Crowley, senator, paederast, coward and former traitor of the Empire approached Castiel as he was accepting a goblet of wine.

He'd never felt as out of place as of yet.

The Cesar's home in Paradiso was a grand architectural masterpiece. Columns of marble and sculptures of wise men came about at every turn. Paintings of vivid colors everywhere, on the walls, the floors, the ceilings, the piss-pots even. Every man and woman of honor was there to congratulate the Cesar and relish in his victory. All dressed in the most expensive linen and silk, jewels, gold and silver adornments on every neck and hands.

Castiel was clad in the only clean and mostly intact tunic he found, topped off with the blood red toga he wore as Centurion. He'd only had time and mind to wash himself perfunctory before he'd found a doctor to take care of the leg. The looks he'd gotten and stilted words of insincere praise were proof enough that he was unfit for these social circles.

But the Cesar's welcome and unbidden smile were enough for him. To know that he had Michael's friendship was a gift on its own.

What was not a gift, was the piss-piglet's presence.

"Senator Crowley." He nodded in respect, before turning to the side to take a big, big gulp of wine.

"Oh, no need for formalities here! This is a place of friends, and I suppose, since you've landed yourself here, you are a friend too." What was outright punishment was having to endure said piss-piglet's sly remarks and cowardly insults.

"I was invited by the Cesar." He responded curtly and when spotting the alarmingly young boy by the senator's side he turned to take another big, big, not-big-enough gulp of wine.

"Oh, I do not doubt this, friend. You did, after all, lead the battle that won Cesar another piece of land. Sitting in your tent or otherwise, it is still a great feat." Crowley smiled that smarmy grin of self-importance he worse as second-skin.

"Are you implying dishonor on me?" He'd had it with the night. Michael was, as expected, with his woman and wise men. Annael, an honorable woman that actually liked him, was off catering to the wives' petty musings, none of his soldiers were there, and all the men treated him as a pleb. Top it off, Crowley, a mockery with a rank, had the nerve to suggest he was only a lazy bystander on the field.

"I speak in jest, Centurion. War has made an injury on you deeper than the one on your leg." Crowley nodded to the wound, which Castiel had thought he'd covered up nicely with the toga.

"With respect, I would disagree." Castiel drained the last of the goblet, and decided now was a time as good as any to make his exit. As the alcohol had it’s effect, the urge to strike Crowley started seeming a good possibility.

Just then a hand settled on his shoulder.

"Dear friend, I will have to borrow our man of the sword for a short while." Michael smiled down at the senator, and Castiel would have to offer a sacrifice to Fortune tomorrow for this blessing.

"Of course, Cesar. " Crowley gave his little bow, giving them the exit.

Michael's hand stayed put, guiding him through corridors and corridors, each a work of art on its own. The drink buzzed his mind enough to not care where he was taken only that the noise was far-off and the heat diminishing.

"He didn't bother you, the old jester?" Michael chuckled into his ear as they continued their descent.

"I can handle him, though, if I may speak freely?" He turned his eyes to the deep and wise of royalty.

"With me, you may always speak freely. You know this already." He laughed softly.

"I don't understand why must we forgive his treachery. Why gift him with a seat in the theatre, instead of a punishment, as is formal?"

"Element of surprise, my friend! To show that all and any that plan, or hope to leave Lucifer's tyranny to join me in the fair battle, may do so without any repercussion." Michael responded fairly as they made their way through another opening.

"Ah..." Was Castiel's not so eloquent reply back, and really, if he had half the sobriety he would slap himself for his incompetence.

"Politics, soldier. Politics for grouchy old men." He laughed heartily as they founded a place of grandeur as he'd never previously seen.

The wide room was all drenched in royal red and gold. Sculptures of all beings, small and big decorated the room, a pool in the center, slaves with fans waiting by the gargantuan bed, slaves with grape and wine by the pool, and a painting of the Cesar on the ceiling.

"Impressed yet?" It was all too much for a simple man as Castiel always thought himself to be. All the splendor was messing with his sanity.

"As never before." He answered honestly with wide eyes.

"Come, enjoy yourself with me. You've deserved it."

They lay on the two couches by the fire place, being offered food and drink at a mere gesture. Michael seemed at ease and fit right with the scene before him. Castiel, too overwhelmed to really play the character, ate from his own hand and tried not to stare too much. Michael enquired about the battle, numbers of men lost and money spent, the usual. The Cesar would joke and Castiel was mindful to laugh at the right moments. It wasn't that he didn't find the sayings amusing, he was just never one of a loud nature.

"Has this evening been enjoyable for you?"

"Oh, it is a tremendous honor to have been a guest at your home, Cesar."

"Of course. Though, speaking of enjoyment..." Michael gestured for the wine and sipped.

"I must say, Castiel, as a friend I have been worried about you." The words brought as sharp tug of fear. 

"In what respect, Cesar?" Castiel asked cautiously.

"You haven't brought anyone with you, soldier. And as I recall, I have never heard of a wife. Neither have I heard of a man. And I know how much you hate those brothels." He waved his hand dismissively.

"It is of no import what you do in your love affairs, but, men have been talking. Unkind things, I'm afraid." Castiel's discomfort grew with every spoken syllable.

"What things?"

"Well, they say that you are... like a woman, my friend. But, I know that you are a soldier of great worth. And I curse them, send the wrath of the Furies to them!" He flapped his hand expressively as if chasing away something.

"I apologize that you have heard of this, though I assure you, that is not the case with me." He'd known that there was talk about him, him with no family, a dead, slave mother, unknown father, no children and no women behind him. He'd figured that as long as he did right by his country and people, then he owed no one.

"I know, I know, soldier. Problem is, these scum have big mouths, vapid caves, those things. Can't even shut them up. It would look ill with the people." Castiel nodded along with a clenched jaw.

"What I am trying to say, Castiel, is that you have a way of shutting them up."

"I only need a list of names, my men would raise at a-"

"No, no, you misunderstand me. No deaths. Not this time." He smiled softly, giving Castiel that sharp sting of fright again.

"What you need is a vacation. My vassal, Gabriel, will accompany you tomorrow to the market. You will find a slave of your own taste, man, woman, boy, girl, it doesn't matter. You can take any of your own choosing, Gabriel will take care of all expenses."

"I-I don't-Cesar, I've never had a slave, I wouldn't-"

"You are a perfectly good soldier, perfectly good man. You deserve to spoil yourself. Business will be dealt with tomorrow, yes?"

Castiel's mouth opened and closed at a loss of words. He didn't want anyone in that way, let alone to take a slave and abuse him or her. Having lived by the sword his whole life, his mind was a narrow path of 'fight and kill'. He'd only ever known of survival, and now, thrust in the middle of this splendor he was being offered a gift. From the Cesar no less.

"It will."

-/-

"You know, all this fuss is making me miss the battle." Gabriel spoke as he and Castiel made their way through the many merchants and shopkeepers.

He'd forgotten the city. How it was always bustling and alive, but alive in a way that was on the brink of dying. Beggars would come up to them and squeeze an arm or tug on their cloth to get their attention and mumble about 'please' and 'my wife, my kids.' Men of trade would shuffle by recognizing Gabriel and yelp about 'excellent trade' and 'splendid bargains' they had. One plebian even did as much as to stick a fish in the Centurion's face before he was struck away.

"You mean the tent?" Castiel replied as he squeezed past a row of caged chickens and pigeons.

"I see you have been reading Lucian of Samosata." The shorter man yelped as a chicken clucked at his deep blue toga.

"Never heard of him." Castiel stood to wait for the shorter man as the vassal grumbled nonsensically while trying to right his toga.

"No matter. And to answer your question, no. The palace is much wider and bed much more comfortable." Gabriel snapped back with a satisfied grin.

"What I do miss is the atmosphere. It seems stuffier in here, hotter. Too much air wasted by slaves, I think." You couldn't hold a silence in the company of Gabriel. Seemed to him that all the time he spent being quiet for Michael resulted in the annoying ramblings he would always go off on.

"Might I remind you that you too are a slave."

"Oh, you might have the position, Castiel, but I have all the luxury." Gabriel smiled in victory as he led through the market.

"I do not need for luxury." Castiel said in a disinterested manner, raking his eyes for any sight of a good buy. So far they'd seen only a small cluster of slave children, and he'd made it adamant that he was not interested in that sort of deal.

"No, what you need is a slave. Although, honestly, I haven't got the slightest idea why you haven't picked out a freeborn woman by now. You still could have gotten men to penetrate you, it would-"

"I have every right to end you, mongrel." The slave hung in the air, kept so by Castiel's grip on his clothing, his eyes welling up with fear as Castiel spit the words.

"I-I meant no disrespect, Cen-"

"Jupiter's cock, you didn't." He kept his tone down for the civilians' sake, but let his voice drop. However, the way he held the slave and spoke into his face did attract some uninvited attention.

"Forgive me, sir."

With that he dropped him down and continued on undeterred, Gabriel by his side.

"And why is it of importance to the Cesar that my honor stay intact?" He turned to ask what was troubling him.

"You are a soldier of great value to him. The fourth legion is the strongest. If the people lose their faith in you, they lose their faith in Michael."

"Do not call him by name."

"Apologies."

They kept on trudging through the streets and to the center of trades. It was as crowded as he'd never seen it before, and made hastily to where he saw a batch of caged people. The sooner be done with it, the better.

"Salve, Centurion!" A measly looking man, unclean and thin rushed up to the both of them as they came to stand.

"Citizen." Castiel nodded in acknowledgment.

"Congratulations on the victory, sir, but now, what pleases the soldier's eye? I have many, young, old, male, female, all to please the customer!" The man's eyes gleamed as if the coins were already in his hands.

"Let us see then, shall we?" Gabriel gave him a light push, and they went on. Castiel scanned the cages and took a stop here and there. Most of what he saw sickened him and was not pleasing at all. Children cowering in the corners of wooden cages. Beaten and bloody men shooting menacing eyes. Wall-eyed women on the brink of collapse.

When something made him stop.

A man, hands and feet tied together, lying alone in a cage. A single spread of light over his eyes illuminated the golds and greens there. Wild eyes, wild and merciless as the forest green they carried. Golden spots over the bridge of his nose. Golden hair too. Short, cropped. Perhaps a Gaul. But, the plump, womanly bow of his lips and slanting eyelashes seemed to gentile to be one of their kind. His body told a different story. Well sculpted and strong, it was. Defined arms at his sides, and fit legs, strong clavicle peaking from the dirty toga. He looked remarkably healthy, for having lived the life he was destined to live. But the eyes, the eyes never left him as he inspected the offering. He locked his gaze with the man's and found him unblinking, almost challenging him.

"What about this one?" He asked Gabriel, who puttered about in a circle until he was called.

"Good find! Looks intact, 's got plenty of meat on him. Citizen!" He waved the seller towards them.

"Ah, find anything that suits your needs, sir?"

"Tell me about this." All the while the caged and unmoving man kept his gaze. It was remarkable really, much greater men have failed under his stare.

"Oh, good choice, good choice! This one was just brought in, 21 years of age, ripe age! Kept healthy, a soft virgin, true Roman! Very clam, very good for both work and pleasure." He laughed nervously, while Gabriel snorted annoyingly.

"How much?" Gabriel shuffled forward until his appalled face was in the Centurion's line of sight.

"For you, I say... 900 denarii."

"Bona Dea, that is entirely too much! You are speaking to the Angelus Mortis, and if I-"

"I will take him."

"What? Centurion, you can't be-"

"I said I will take him." And with those words, the slave blinked.

-/-

Taking a stop in front of his home, Castiel finally breathed. He hadn't seen the house in daylight since he was back. It looked so... rotten. Wobbly and old, creaky steps and mossy stone. It was a mess and wasn't that just shameful? He breathed heavily and turned to the slave who he carried by a rope around his hands. It felt so difficult to carry around someone like cattle. Not lead like he did in the army, but literally string along.

"Up then." He instructed and made for the stairs, heavy footsteps following him behind.

Once inside he went for the bowl of water and rinsed his face and hands in a hurry.

"Go ahead." The green-eyed man behaved as a skittish horse. As if he were sure of his body and strength but frightful of the territory. He went for the bowl and did the deed with still tied hands. While he washed, Castiel went for his knife and to him.

Just as he gained in proximity, the man jolted, wet hair plastered to his forehead and wide eyes gazing frantically around him.

"For the rope." He explained and without much patience took his hands which seemed to want a fight. He cut through with a simple swipe and let the strands fall.

He turned for the bed and sat down, watching as the man rubbed at his wrists.

"What is your name?" He asked, finally.

Although, the slave seemed to have some internal battle over the simple question.

"I know you are not Roman, just answer truthfully."

"Dean." The voice took him by surprise. He expected a boyish, soft tone, not the gruff and weary one he got.

"And age?"

"Ah, 21-"

"From now on, you will answer with nothing but the truth. What is your age?"

"29."

The Centurion nodded, surprised again. The man did look much younger.

"Dean, my name is Castiel, I am Centurion of the 4th legion, and I will be... your master." He'd heard the word a thousand times before, but to be coming from his own mouth... It was difficult and strange.

"You will be treated fairly and justly as long as you follow my orders. I will not mistreat you or do abuse on your part as long as you pay me with respect. You will be paid for your services."

The slave stood nodding to his words, his hands still hanging indecisively in front of his crotch, as if they were still tied.

"Is there anything of import you wish me know about you?" If there were any abnormalities about the man it would be best to not be surprised.

"I am not a virgin." Castiel's face turned sour at the notion. He'd hoped they wouldn't have to bring this up. He'd have to be stupid to believe a slave-trader.

"This is of no import. You will not be asked to perform sexual favors." The subtle way Dean's whole posture relaxed only confirmed his earlier suspicions. He was most likely a concubine all his life, taken from one owner to another.

"Though, I would ask you to tell people otherwise. Should they ask, of course, it would do no good to bring it up so bluntly." He scratched hand over his almost-beard. He'd have to get shaven soon.  
"Of course."

He chanced a glance to the slave, hand still buried in the scratchy and dirty mess his face had become.

"Warm a bowl of water, will you?"

**Author's Note:**

> To clarify some things:
> 
> A Centurion was basically like a general, he had a group of men who he controlled them in battle.
> 
> Angelus Mortis- Angel of Death
> 
> Mars was god of war, Jupiter was god of all gods.
> 
> Bona Dea! – Sweet Goddess!
> 
> Paederasty was very common in Ancient Greece and Rome, it was basically grown men 'loving' young boys. To be a paederast meant you were of a high social class. This changed somewhere down the line, though during the luring of some emperors they tried to make it 'cool' again.
> 
> When Michael refers to Cas as a woman, it is not because he thinks he is gay , but because he thinks he is submissive to men. In ancient Rome there was no straight/gay there was submissive/dominative. Basically everybody was bisexual and it was cool as long as the freeborn men weren't getting fucked, else it would jeopardize their freedom.
> 
> Lucian of Samosata was basically the 'first' comedic writer. He wrote in greek and apparently his stories were quite humorous and entertaining to the people of that time. I tried reading 'A True Story' by him, but it's all satire and at-the-time pop culture references. Fun fact: The title refers to how it's not true at all.
> 
> Salve- Latin for Hello.
> 
> Denarii- Roman money
> 
> As for the story: I will stir clear from the torture/sado-masochism story line these kinds of fics most commonly follow. Though I will try to keep it as realistic as possible for those times, with artistic freedom and references to canon situations. And yes, the destiel goodness will follow.
> 
> Kudos and comments are most welcome!


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